


In Your Rotation, I Stay

by hanjisungsslut



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 1600s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ancient Times, Chaptered, Earth, Fantasy, Jupiter, M/M, Mars, Mercury - Freeform, Neptune, Nighttime Meetings, Pirate AU, Planets, Planets Au, Pluto - Freeform, Royalty AU, SOLDIER - Freeform, Saturn - Freeform, Short Story, Uranus - Freeform, Venus - Freeform, War AU, aesthetic, aesthetic vibes, different vibes, finding yourself, just really vibey, kind of, pluto is a planet, vibes, vibey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanjisungsslut/pseuds/hanjisungsslut
Summary: The theory of reincarnation states that souls that transcend the time of a human body will never truly die, bound to the cycle of rebirth and reset.When nothing makes sense, there is one person who makes all the sense in the world.Nine planets of the solar system, nine chances to remember. Remember. Remember.EDIT 11/20: I found where He was mentioned and took it out.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 21
Kudos: 107





	1. Mercury

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is kind of an off the wall idea of mine but I hope you like it and plan to finish it within the next few weeks. For my main fics, I have a new one in the works! Thank you!

The time is unknown.

It’s an hour of a day of a month of a year, and that’s all you need to know. The importance does not lie in what time it is, the importance is in the lack of it.

It’s night, though to say night had “fallen” would be incorrect. Night, as mysterious and powerful as it was, would not fall. Instead, dusk has risen and painted the skies a hue somewhere between blue and black and dotted itself with white glows.

Night is the best time, though it isn’t really a time at all. Time stops when the dusk rises and starts when the dawn falls. The hours in between either pass quickly or don’t pass at all. It all depends on who you are.

Night is when the whispers from the unheard shadows creep along bare asphalt and yellow painted lines. Night is when secrets do not exist, for everything told in the dark will never reach the light and will remain unknown, unheard, unnoticed. 

Night is when the soft pads of Lee Minho’s worn shoes become louder than any noise ever heard. The neighborhood he strolls down is quiet, every house sound asleep and unaware of his existence. In the not-time, he is only recognized by the streetlights.

When dawn falls and dusk decides to wait it’s turn, Minho is his image. He is charismatic, confidence in the form of a living being. He is what his image is to be, nothing more and nothing less.

When the dusk rises and dawn runs in fear, Minho simply is. He is not anything, a figure without traits to describe him, a presence with no person.

He is everything at once and then nothing at all. 

There’s a tug in his chest, it’s been there for as long as he can remember. There’s a pull at his hand, a weight on his shoulders. There’s a ringing in his head, a bell that cannot be stopped.

His heart beats, the same as it always was. It will forever be tattered and aging, not matter how often he changes it.

Minho doesn’t call him a savior, he doesn’t believe in such a thing but the boy he meets in between time and not-time was born to save.

What he’s saving, Minho never knew. He never asked.

Upon arriving at the end of the street, the dulled yellow washing their silhouettes, he stills. He doesn’t study the boy in front of him, having no need to learn anything new of him. He knows what he wants to, doesn’t ask about the things he doesn’t. 

“You’re still alive.” He states. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t sit.

“Try not to sound so surprised.” The boy replies and a careless smile makes way onto a round face.

“I am surprised. Why would I not sound as such?” Minho replies. He isn’t really asking, but the boy will answer him. He knows this.

“Do you always wear your heart on your face?” The boy retorts and his legs swing over the elevated concrete. He gets comfortable while waiting for Minho.

“It’s not my heart you see reflected in my words, it’s my thoughts.”

“Are those not the same thing?”

“Not to me, no.” 

Jisung nods once and leans back on his elbows. Minho doesn’t move from his spot. 

This is only the third time they’ve met, and yet Minho feels the way the boy takes some of the weight from his shoulders, some of the pull in his chest, the pull at his hand. The boy mutes the ringing in his head. The alarm can’t be unsounded, but Jisung muffles it with his existence.

“What’s your story, then?” Jisung peers up at him, lost and questioning, “Who is Lee Minho?”

“He is nothing but a desperate man.” Minho replies and though he refuses to make any move, he allows himself to breathe.

“Desperate for what?”

“If only he knew.”

Jisung nodded. How he could understand what Minho didn’t even understand was beyond both of them. Yet, every word from the boy’s mouth was like a language only he could read.

“Well, what does Lee Minho want?”

Jisung asked the same thing the night they first encountered one another. Minho ponders the question. For days, he’s thought about it, spending time and not-time consumed by himself. He still didn’t have an answer.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” Jisung started, “I want to go somewhere. I don’t care where, but not here. I want to go somewhere where I don’t exist, where my name is nothing more than a question unanswered, where my face is fresh and my life is undecided. I want to go to a place and take memory with me, so nobody remembers me.”

“Nobody?” Minho finds himself speaking his only thought aloud, “There isn’t one person you would want to remember you?”

“Nope.” Jisung leans all the way back now, flat on the curb. He seems to rethink his answer quickly and interrupts Minho’s gathering thought. “Well, I would let you remember me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“That’s the point.”

For passing minutes, the silence covers them. There is safety in quiet, there is secrecy in closed lips. Jisung shuffles around in his spot, Minho stays planted in his.

“I’ll ask again,” Jisung breaks their solitude and once again threatens the balance of the universe with little words, “what do you want?” 

Minho thinks he knows now. 

“I want to go.”

“Go where?” Jisung is smiling. He needn’t ask, but he does. He does because he wants to hear it. He wants to know.

“I’ll go anywhere you want me.”

His smile widens and it’s more terrifying than Minho wishes it would be. 

“Then let’s go.” 


	2. Venus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Venus by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> To know someone who you have never before known is to love someone without knowing what love is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m dabbling with this idea, it’s a rougher in the works idea.

The plates are made of pure gold, the utensils of silver. The chandeliers are adorned with an assortment of stones, sapphires and rubies and emeralds, each glinting with secrets hidden in their beauty. Everyone speaks at once. Their voices create a gentle hum.

The exact time is uncertain, even among the guests. The frame of their existence can be categorized as somewhere in the early 1920s, but it isn’t really. No one is concerned as to when they are, they are only focused on what they are.

The grand ballroom is overflowing, much to the delight of the hostess. She remains anonymous, a blank face among the crowd as she has chosen to be known. There is not a name to her face or a face to her name. She is completely and utterly unknown.

Lee Minho finds himself, at several moments that night, wishing he were her. 

The partygoers are all important to their country. Diplomats, politicians, war generals. They speak in code, mostly, one that Minho cannot understand. He is nothing of their sort. He isn’t even sure why he received the invitation.

An astronomer such as himself holds no true importance to their well-being as a nation. He can see none of his fellow astronomers in attendance, though he could not recognize them even if they were. 

Minho is famous for staying holed up in his study, surrounded by maps and papers of the world beyond the world. The other, as he called it. 

He has been reprimanded once or twice by his supervisor. His unfriendly nature and self-isolation was not impressive to the others in his department, but he was not attempting to impress them. His only concern was the stars and the stories their constellations told.

He was not interested in people, and people were not interested in him. 

He excuses himself from a rather long and coded conversation between two diplomats at his table. They do not notice his absence. Minho is not offended.

Time ticks by on the grandfather clock, each second passing like a minute. A slight delay in time, a flaw in the flawless. 

He stands at the height of the staircase, green carpet bending to the will of his feet. His position leads him to overlook the party and its attendants. He studies their faces and voices with a bored eye and a lazy ear. He feels nothing looking at them. 

Tick tock, says the clock.

As fast as it takes for the second, the minute of a second, to pass, a jolt runs through his body. Minho is frozen, not by time, but by a figure.

The boy stands in the same position, on the opposite staircase across the ballroom floor. Their eyes are locked and background noise is no longer a luxury they can afford.

Minho has only ever looked at the night sky, but here, he finds himself looking at another. Seconds—No, minutes. Maybe even hours—pass as the two are lost to time and space. The grandfather clock continues as if it never stopped.

Tick tock, says the clock.

They descend the stairs, each step a direct mirror of the other. The ballroom floor has never felt so empty as it does when they cross it, avoiding bodies and tables and words of people who think they know them. The ballroom floor has never felt so empty as it does when they meet in the middle.

“I know you,” Minho speaks first, even though he has never spoken to this man before. 

“I know you too.” The man replies and he smiles wide. They are still as can be as the time passes and doesn’t pass all at once.

“I have never met you, and you haven’t met me.” Minho is well-aware of how silly he must look, to everyone around them and to the man.

“Yet it seems, we have met before.” The man is not phased as he bows and offers his hand, “Care to dance?”

Minho does not remember saying yes. 

They are dancing in a matter of seconds, possibly minutes, around the dance floor. Their faces strike the other to be familiar, but nothing comes to mind of any previous encounters. They have met, they are sure of it.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” Minho whispers as his palm presses into the boy’s. He thinks for a moment.

“Your name is but a piece of what I wish to know. Though, the better question is, who are you?”

Minho stares back into the boy’s face. He is beautiful and mysterious. Minho realizes, belatedly, that he can not think his way out of this. 

“I am Lee Minho, an astronomer.” 

The man smiles.

“I am Han Jisung, a wanderer. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Their hands press together as Minho is spun out and then back in. Their eyes meet once again and there’s something in them. A yellow light.

“Do you believe in fate, Jisung?” 

“I believe in everything.” 

Minho spins again, lands chest-to-chest with the smaller man. There is no space left in between. 

“You’re an astronomer. What is your favorite planet?” Jisung asks, gripping Minho’s hand tighter, his eyes swimming with knowledge.

Minho has always known the answer to that question, though in the moment, his mind can only supply the name of the boy in front of him. He refuses to divert his gaze, but he clears his mind and lets the answer flow from his lips, like a promise. 

“Venus.”


	3. Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Earth by Sleeping At Last.

Even the honest hold a secret. 

Think of the most honest person you know. The one who reads like an open book, who is trustworthy and reliable. Think of this person and every truth they’ve ever told you. That person is the biggest liar of all.

It may be that they do not lie to you or others and it may be that they are the  most honest person but they are not honest. They lie to themselves every time they say they are truthful.

Think of the worst liar you know. The one who carries their mystery and lack of clarity with a smirk or a frown. The one who holds their secrets so close to their hearts, a surgeon couldn’t get to them. Think of this person and every lie they’ve ever told you. They are the most truthful.

They do not try to deceive you or themselves by claiming to be honest. They know they are tainted with deception and it is perhaps the one thing they never lie about. 

Truth from a seemingly honest person is not worth as much as it is from a known liar. 

Everything has secrets. The biggest liar, or perhaps the most honest, is not a person. It is the last thing one would suspect. It is the earth.

Earth is filled with secrets undiscovered. You can dig down to the core and burn alive, but your shovel will never tell the secrets of the Earth.

They met in what seemed to be midday, for the first time. They were only children then, the two year age difference weighing over their heads meant a lot at the time. It does not mean anything now. 

They met in the dirt, along a fault-line. The same dirt that would later expose their fault lines.

Lee Minho was as honest a man as an honest man could be. He was a lawyer and brought his firm and family both success in the name of honesty. He had no secrets to tell.

Han Jisung was the worst liar ever known. He was a criminal, in every sense of the word, and the weight on his shoulders was not of his age and friendship, but of his lies and his sins. 

They met when they were children, in the dirt and along a fault line. They met every night, in the dirt and along a fault line. 

Midday was no longer convenient and nightfall proved as good a time as any for meeting. They never talked about it, either out of understanding or fear, but their connection was instantaneous. 

They stayed close through the harsh winters and the hot summers. 

Minho was made of glass and Jisung of stone, and when the fault lines trembled, Minho would be the first to fall. 

“Jisung,” Minho speaks on this night in particular, “what would you do in the event of a natural disaster?”

“All disasters are natural.” Jisung replies, the licorice caught between his teeth. Minho shook his head.

“I mean a disaster. Like an earthquake.” He rephrases his question as Jisung pulls the licorice free. He chews silently, eyes fixed on the night sky.

“I would shake.” 

“And an avalanche?” Minho presses on. Jisung stops his chewing to consider the question. He turns it over in his head thrice before sighing.

“I would never be in one, but I assume I would do what the snow did.”

“Hurricane?”

“Drown.”

“Flood?”

“Drown more.”

“Wildfire?”

“I would burn, Minho.” 

“Me?”

“What?”

Jisung turns to look at him carefully. Under the moon, he can’t see past the shadow on Minho’s face. He can’t see the pinch in his brow or the frown on his lips. But he can see the clench of his hands in the dirt. 

“What would you do, Jisung?” Minho asks again, his voice strained. Jisung stares, unsure or how to phrase his answer.

“I would do whatever I am supposed to do. In an earthquake, I shake. In a flood, I drown. In a tornado, I blow away. In a wildfire, I burn. In you, I stay put and I let the effects do what they will.”

“You trust me far too much.” Minho whispers against the night. Jisung shrugs.

“The truth of a liar weighs more than that of an honest man.”

“But I am an honest man?” Minho’s brow furrows. Jisung shakes his head with a soft smile.

“You lies when you said that. You’re a liar, like me.” 

They let the silence carry between them, nothing but the dirt and the fault

line in between them. They have been friends since they were kids, they have been more since the fault line began to tremble.

“What if I am the natural disaster?” Minho’s head is inclined upwards as he watches the sky. Jisung’s head is level as he watches Minho.

“Then I will simply live until the disaster occurs.”

Minho blinks and looks down, across the fault lines. Jisung is grinning.

“How will you know when it does?”

“Until the sirens sound, I am safe.” 


	4. Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter for the future.

_ Dear Reader, _

_ Reader, I am terrified. _

_ Only four months ago, I was so happy to be here, it felt like the highest honor. Now, I feel nothing staring at myself in this wretched uniform.  _

_ Only four months ago, I was more than delighted to leave my name and date of birth along the dotted lines, to pack up and tell my family I would be off to fight the war, to remember my name. Now, I know they only suffer when they hear it spoken aloud. _

_ The worst of it is, I am not the only one who has been deceived.  _

_ There are two other boys around my age in my unit, the commander calls us “men” but we are hardly even legal. I like both of them, they’re friendly and full of such vibrant life. Like I once was. _

_ We went through training together and through the rough days, it seemed like nothing could beat us. We were amateurs, strangers to what it means to suffer. _

_ The commander lied.  _

_ He told us he was a war criminal. He told us he was dangerous. He told us to eliminate him. And we followed his orders blindly.  _

_ My friend saw what I could not. He saw past orders, past blind trust. He saw the truth. _

_ He was not a war criminal, he was the democratically-elected president and we had been sent on an order to kill him. Because of Jisung, an innocent man was saved and because of Jisung, I know now the secrets of our protectors. _

_ We were reprimanded for failing our mission, but no punishment would ever dare make me reconsider my decision to call off the search for this man. I hear he got away in time, though who knows the truth in that statement. _

_ “He’s a liar.” Jisung said to me once while we laid in our bunk beds. We had chosen two bottom bunks, right next to the other. His whispers were louder than any bomb dropped. _

_ “He’s a murderer.” I replied, my heart and stomach sinking at the word. I couldn’t help the nerves, the anxiety that someone may be listening. I couldn’t help the thought that if we were heard, we would be tried for conspiracy. _

_ “Minho?” Jisung’s voice was soothing to hear, always had been. From the moment we met, he had been a calming presence in my life, even despite his foolish antics and loud mouth. _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “What are we fighting for? What’s this war about?”  _

_ I didn’t have an answer to his question. I never would.  _

_ We were awoken hours later by blaring sirens and the shouts of our commanding officers. There were gunshots and fires breaking out just outside our windows. Amateur soldiers, now front line.  _

_ I will spare you the gory details of the next sequence of events.  _

_ We ended up surrounded by enemy soldiers, who lined us up on the wall with loud growls. Jisung was next to me, unmoving next to my trembling hand. _

_ When no one was watching, he leaned over and grabbed it. I still am not sure if he was still it my motions to calm me down, or to keep the soldiers from singling me out. Perhaps, in any other time, I would have blushed at the gesture. I didn’t then. _

_ The soldiers had their guns trained on us, red dots on our chests and not an ounce of mercy on their faces. So, this is how I die.  _

_ Just as they were about to begin their heavy fire, a voice broke through the static of their walkie-talkies. _

_ “Stop!” _

_ My lungs burned from the breath I held. _

_ “Lay your weapons down! Do not fire, I repeat, do not fire!” _

_ Jisung squeezed my hand so hard, I was sure the blood had run out of it. However, I couldn’t pay attention to the pain and only squeezed back just as hard. _

_ “The war is over. It’s done. Retreat back to home base.”  _

_ My knees hit the floor. I remember feeling faint and then the warm embrace of arms around my shoulders and tears running down my neck. The tears weren’t mine.  _

_ The soldiers backed out of the bunker and the rest of my unit all sighed in relief. Some cried, some yelled and some showed no reaction at all. I don’t remember the names, nor the faces, of the men I almost died alongside. I hope I never have to hear or see them again. _

_ As I write this, I have returned home. My family did not recognize me at the door, but they took me in either way. Before I left for home, I asked Jisung where he was to go. _

_ “I have no home.” He shrugged simply and threw his backpack over his shoulder, “It’s why I came here. Nowhere else to go.” _

_ I couldn’t let him return to the streets after everything. I brought him home, though we didn’t have the room or the money to afford another, but we made do. _

_ It’s nice to have someone who understands. My folks don’t realize just why I have changed, they will never understand the things I’ve done and seen. But Jisung does, and he always will. I need him around for my own sanity and I think he needs me too. _

_ I do not have much hope for the future if it continues the way it works now. I was young and naive when I signed my name along a dotted line filled with lies and deceit. I am both old enough and young enough now to know never to trust another again and to begin building a future worth hoping for.  _

_ It doesn’t matter what is in store for me next. It doesn’t matter who believes or trusts me now. All that matters is the future. _

_ I hope this letter makes it to you in the future worth hoping for. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Lee Minho _


	5. Jupiter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Jupiter by Sleeping At Last.

The four seasons are dependent on each other.

Winter implies summer, spring implies autumn. To prefer one over the other is to prefer one part of a mechanism over another. Without all the pieces of the mechanism, it won’t work the same. 

All four seasons are needed to make a year.

It was late winter, more than likely sometime in March, if you preferred to be specific, though the exact date is unknown. The year, however, was 1610. 

The poet Lee Minho has always been a simple man up until now. He is practical, cynical, and obedient in every way. He never strays from the path he walks along every day. There has never been any reason to stray from a path with a clear destination and a sense of safety. 

These days, he still enjoys walking the path from his back lawn to the gates of the small town in which he lives. The path does not bring him inspiration anymore, unfortunately and while the walk is still good, it is not the same.

The dirt was packed into the ground by how many times his feet had crossed over it, the trees and bushes all a sight ingrained in his brain. Once, he could sit out here and write for hours. Now, he sees nothing in the familiarity.

Today, he isn’t sure why he decides to venture off the path. He spends several minutes standing in the middle of it, staring beyond the naked trees he’s seen one too many times and the land undiscovered just over the hill. There’s a strange pull coming from the other side and he plants a careful foot into the snow.

He walks in a straight line, hoping his footprints will lead him back to the path later. The forest brings a number of new ideas to his mind, poems coming to him as if the trees are whispering them to him.

There’s a snow owl on the naked and snowy tree above, what he thinks is an arctic fox runs across his feet. His tailored blue coat is too thin for the falling snow, but he can’t find himself to be cold. He walks further, until he comes upon a opening through snowy branches.

He ducks under them and is met with a riverbank. There’s a river in between him and the other side, the water completely frozen. A stump covered in snow presents itself to him and he brushes off the fluffy white to bring out his poetry book.

“We don’t get many visitors in this part,” A voice says and Minho’s eyes suddenly snap up to meet a sea of warm brown. The boy in front of him smiles. He’s sitting on the opposite stump across the frozen river. Minho isn’t sure how he didn’t see him before.

A white hare stands next to the boy, letting him run his hands over its fur. A sketchbook sits atop his lap, open to a blank page. The boy holds a quill.

“My apologies. I wasn’t aware of another presence.” Minho tucks his book back into his coat, embarrassment flushing his cheeks a dazzling red. He blames it on the cold.

“That’s alright. My name is Jisung. May I ask yours?”

Minho bites his lip. He studies the boy closely, from plump cheeks, to red lips and doe eyes. He doesn’t appear to be angry with him, he seems rather trustworthy.

“Minho.”

Jisung grins.

“I am an artist. I come here to draw the animals and other creatures.” Jisung pets the hare as he says so, a soft giggle leaving his lips as it nuzzles his hand.

“I am a poet. I have never been to these parts.”

“Do you believe in fate, Minho?”

An odd question to ask. Minho is tempted not to answer, but there’s something about Jisung. His smile, or maybe it’s his eyes, are taking down every guard he has thrown up piece by piece. He finds himself nodding before he even processes the question.

“So do I.” Jisung says and he stands up. A single orange flower rests in his hand and he leans down to lay it along the ice. The hare hops over and nuzzles Jisung again. He looks up at Minho and to his left.

A row of pretty red flowers are still blooming and Minho is standing up before he feels his feet moving to pluck one of them and lay it on the ice on his side. Jisung seems pleased with this and straightens his frame.

“It is time for me to go, Minho. Perhaps, I shall see you again soon.”

Jisung sends him one more smile and a wave before disappearing into the forest. Minho tried to concentrate, but every poem he writes is about doe eyes and plump cheeks. He follows the imprint of his footsteps home and tries to move past his own thoughts.

Months pass in which Minho visits the river each day. He watches it thaw, watches the snow stop and the sun return regularly. The temperature rises and still, Jisung does not return.

It isn’t until late July, that Minho once again strays from the path. The trees are full with green leaves now, the ground pretty and fresh with dirt and grass. A woodland owl hoots at him, a red fox runs across his heels. The entrance taunts him as he pulls back green vines to see the river bank.

The stump is warm when he sits today, the river is flowing with warm water. His coat today is red and snug, and though it’s hot, he won’t remove it.

Just as he reaches for his book, movement catches his eye. Jisung is sitting on the opposite stump when he looks up. He hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve been searching for me?” Jisung asks with a chuckle, a wild brown rabbit hops to his side and sits at his feet. The sketchbook in his lap is open once again, but the page is not empty. In the center, a drawing of Minho himself is etched onto parchment.

“Where have you been?” 

“Waiting.”

Minho furrows his eyebrows. Jisung is staring back at him, unfazed and friendly. 

“Waiting where?” He asks cautiously. Jisung seems to frown a little at the question, his eyes dropping down to his hands as he rings them together. Minho awaits his answer.

“Surely, by now you remember.” He mumbles to himself, but when his gaze meets Minho’s again, he is smiling.

“I’ve been nearby. I never go far. I can never go far from you, Minho.” 

It doesn’t answer Minho’s question, doesn’t give him any sense of mind, but it is the best he is going to get. Jisung is smiling again, but there’s something in his eyes screaming. Only Minho can’t hear the words.

“Who are you?” Minho asks aloud and Jisung cringes visibly. 

“You’ll know soon. I promise.” 

Jisung rises from the stump and places a single orange flower in the running water. Minho doesn’t even question when his feet move on their own accord, plucking another red flower and letting it go down the stream as well.

The flowers run parallel to each other for some time, but they bump into each other just before they are too far for either boy to see. Minho looks away from the end of the stream and back across the bank, only Jisung is now gone again.

Minho makes himself a promise then. One day, rather snow or sun, rather ice or water, frozen or flowing, he will cross the river. Someday. 


	6. Saturn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Saturn by Sleeping At Last.

The expression is “life goes on.” 

Contextually, it means that despite the hardships and pain life may throw at a person, the world around them will continue as normal and eventually, they will too. It means pain is temporary, that moving past things is easier if it’s not viewed as a big deal.

In the bigger picture, it means the more. It means that humans individually and their problems are only a small part of the universe. That nothing one human does will make as big of an impact as they may think. Because the world carries on, and so does time and eventually, someone will stop saying their name. Eventually, their legacy will fade. Even if it takes years, or centuries.

It means not only pain is temporary, but that life itself is not forever.

Humans are taught from young that they can change the world. It isn’t entirely untrue. The world, yes. The universe, no. But humans often don’t make the disconnection. They believe their mere flesh and bones and brain are enough to change something so enigmatic.

Stars aren’t taught the same. 

Stars know from the moment they’re born that they are to burn as long as they can. They know one day they will fall from the sky, and what happens after that is a mystery. But they know nobody will remember the star that fell. They, the humans, will look at the night sky and see the stars as one. Then, they’ll expect to be different.

Humans have so many goals in their lives. So many goals, so much they want to do with themselves, but so little time. So little time to complete these goals that don’t matter in the end. A human will never impact the universe, their impact comes in the form of other people.

Everyone dies, but some people never truly die.

They are simply reborn, fresh memory and clean slate. To learn again and again what it means to live. These humans are rare.

Lee Minho, a scientist of barely twenty-three, sits at the windowsill in his bedroom. He doesn’t live in a big house, doesn’t make any particular amount of money. He is Minho, and that is all.

He stares at the night sky in silence, watches the stars decorate the abyss, offer it light. He names the stars, so he can at least pretend to notice when one has fallen, so he can at least pretend he is more than a speck of dust in a place of infinity.

There is a twin bed in the corner of his bedroom, maps and a telescope are among the clutter preventing him from resting. That is what he blames his lack of sleep on, anyway. 

A desk is pushed up against the wall opposite of it. Han Jisung, a philosopher of twenty-one, sits behind it, his back hunched over carved wood and drawn plans for a new and better telescope. History will call him a friend, Minho would call him something more.

Jisung has been writing for hours, it seems. Minho lets him without a word, because he’s seen the expression on Jisung’s face recently. His eyes tell a secret too quietly for Minho’s ears to receive. He pleads for something Minho does not understand. 

There’s a shuffle behind him and Minho assumes Jisung is stretching the kinks out of his back. He doesn’t expect the warm embrace of arms wrapping around his shoulders and the chest his shoulder blades press against. Jisung’s chin is on his shoulder, staring at the void above them.

“Taking a break?” Minho whispers, his breath fogging up the chilled glass window. Jisung hums in response, his cheek nuzzling Minho’s neck.

“My hand is beginning to ache,” Jisung says, “I hadn’t even realized how long I’ve been at it.” 

“I don’t mind,” Minho could hear the apology in his voice, “I always love to read the things you write.”

Jisung’s chuckle courses through his veins, his entire body growing warm at the sound. 

“I am no author.” There’s a tilt in Jisung’s voice, an amusement Minho doesn’t hear often anymore. It both worries him and relieves him at the same time.

“No, but that is not because you couldn’t be.” 

Jisung’s palms are red and angry as they press into Minho’s shirt. He brings a hand of his own up to rest it on their backs, hoping to soothe the pain even a little. The night sky calls to him again and he feels urges to ask a sudden question.

“Jisung, this may be a rather unintelligent question coming from a scientist, but may I ask it anyway?” At Jisung’s nod, he continues, “How do you think a thing like infinity is possible? Nothing lasts forever, it seems like a lie to say something is infinite.” 

“Nothing lasts forever is a phrase exclusive to us as humans,” Jisung does not miss a beat, “we will die one day, so nothing will last forever for us. That doesn’t mean some things can’t last forever.”

“Like what?”

“You’re the scientist.” Jisung shrugs and Minho giggles, “But light, for example, is endless. We will never reach the end of beginning of it. Life is like that too. Life carries on even after ours ends. We are important, in the eyes of those who love us, but not in the grand scheme.”

“What is important in the grand scheme?” Minho whispers to the air and Jisung closes his eyes softly.

“That is not for something of our little importance to understand.”

Minho hums, lets his head fall back to Jisung’s shoulder. He can see his face clearly now. 

“I wish I could take the words straight from your brain and lay them down in a book.” Minho says with a short laugh. Jisung smiles.

“There is no pen in this world that could contain my thoughts.” He looks out to the night sky once more and turns back, “You can’t record my thoughts, but I do ask you to do something with them.”

“And what is that?”

“Repeat them. Repeat them when I am gone and there is nothing else you can say. Explain the infinite as I have done to you.”

“I will. I promise.”

Minho keeps his promise.

Long after he no longer knows the name Han Jisung, Minho repeats those words. He repeats them to the townsfolk, to his mother and father, to the children on the street with too many questions and far too much hope.

He repeats them when his name is fading too, when nothing makes sense and his breaths are short. He repeats them until he knows nothing else.

Oh, what he would give to hear Jisung say those words once more time. 


	7. Uranus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Uranus by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> A letter to Han Jisung.

_Every day my memory is a little clearer._

_ It started in bursts, like visions and dreams. At first, I thought my daydreaming was getting too excessive, because there’s no way what I was seeing was true. I thought I was crazy.  _

_ But the memories were too vivid. Every time you touched me, it felt like your hand was actually in mine. Every time you whispered my name, I heard your voice as if you were really speaking to me. _

_ I have met you six times before. I have seen your face for the first time over and over. The first words you speak to me are always different. _

_ I might be losing my mind, but I think perhaps you know. Are you aware, Jisung? Are you aware that we have met and met and met?  _

_ At night when I lay down to sleep, the only images that come to my head are of you, but not the you I know. The only words I can hear are yours, but words you have not spoken to me. They repeat in my mind on a constant loop. _

_ “Try not to sound so surprised,” You say to me while sitting under harsh street lighting with your feet in a puddle. _

_ “Your name is but a piece of what I wish to know,” You say to me while dancing in a ballroom and dressed fancier than I’ve ever seen you. _

_ “The truth of a liar weighs more than that of an honest man,” You shrug while sitting in the dirt. _

_ “I have no home,” You tell me after a years long war has ended. _

_ “Surely by now you remember,” You whisper across a lake in the forest with a rabbit by your feet. _

_ And the most recent memory I have discovered is so real, I feel like I am still there.  _

_ “There is no pen in this world that could contain my thoughts,” You smile as we look out a window into the night sky. _

_ Each vision I have is a little clearer than the last. Each word you speak is a little louder than the last.  _

_ There is a theme within our meetings. I noticed it immediately, because it happened in real life too. _

_ I am always completely and unexplainably drawn to you, Han Jisung.  _

_ Do you believe in soulmates, Jisung? Do you believe in soul tethers? I think our souls are tethered. I don’t know who or when or even if these other versions of us are. But they must be telling me something. _

_ I wonder if I will remember what is happening now in a few years as a memory I can only see in a dream.  _

_ In case I don’t, I will document it here in this letter. _

_ This version of me is a teacher. This version of you is a older brother taking care of his three siblings. This version of us is a cliche as you call it. _

_ We met when you picked up your siblings. Something about you was alluring and something in your eyes told me you were expecting me. _

_ Were you expecting me?  _

_ We have a past together, it isn’t a great one, but we’ve grown since then. We’ve grown beyond rivalries and cruel words. Everything was great and still is, only now, I question things. _

_ All because of what you said at dinner last night. _

_ “It would make this easier,” You mumbled, “if you just could understand what we are.”  _

_ I do not know who I am, and now I do not know who you are. _

_ Tell me, Jisung. _

_ Who are we? _


	8. Neptune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Neptune by Sleeping at Last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit long but what can you do. Oh well

There are three things that cannot long be hidden. The sun, the moon and the truth.

Something about overused phrases seem to make sense. Maybe that’s why they’re overused, the same reason cliches are so cliche. 

But that phrase, specifically, always was able to strike a nerve. The sun comes out because it needs to provide light and health to living things. The moon comes out because it needs to allow some darkness to emerge, and keep a schedule. The truth, however, only comes out after someone has been running from it, because it’s faster than the fastest runner.

And when it did come out, it bit. 

There was a kingdom on the edge of the water, the name of it lost to time and books with torn out pages and run out ink. There was a kingdom with a strict and wealthy ruler, born into a life of lavish and luxury. The King never knew work or hardship or suffering. 

He never knew what it was like to have to fight to dig food out a trash can on the street. 

He made thievery a crime punishable by death during his first few years on the throne. The King despised so-called thieves. Though, to the King, thieves were not gamblers or robbers, they were hungry and desperate workers eating thrown out bread.

Lee Know, as he is called now, was one of these so-called thieves. He was only eight when a palace guard caught him in the alleyways behind a bakers shop and pulled him by his collar to the carriage. He was shackled like a prisoner and brought before the King to beg for his forgiveness.

The King waited patiently for Lee Know’s pleas, an empty look in his eyes and a wicked curve to his lips. The young boy‘s hands shook, the chain on his shackles scraped the floor with every vibration of his limbs.

“I won’t beg!” He shouted to a room full of gasping servants and guards, “I won’t beg for my life in which you have already taken! I won’t beg to starve and sort through molded garbage!” 

A guard stepped up to strike him. The King held out a hand before the boy could be harmed. 

“Go ahead!” The boy shouted, “Kill me! You’ll be doing the village a favor! One less mouth of a homeless child to feed!” 

The King stood up, and the boy held his gaze. He would surely be killed on the spot now. Though, he couldn’t really find a place in his heart or in his mind for fear. He was already slowly dying on the streets, at least he wouldn’t die pathetically. 

The King crossed the room and stood before him. His fingers tilted the boy’s chin up and he stared into an endless sea of black. Lee Know closed his eyes and waited for the blow.

It didn’t come.

“Put him on the ship.” The King’s voice said and the finger under his jaw was gone. He stared after the King’s retreating back, still dazed from the feeling of his beating heart. 

“Your majesty—“ A guard began, though his words barely left his mouth before he was silenced. 

“Let the merchants train him. He will make a fine servant one day.” 

Servant.

No, Lee Know would never be a servant, especially not to the King. But where most people saw a lifetime of servitude, Lee Know saw a way out. 

“You will be fed every day, given a place to sleep and shelter from the weather. All you must do is travel with the merchants and learn the ways of the trade. What do you think?” The King’s index finger tapped the armrest of his throne. Lee Know promised himself he would throw that finger in the ocean one day.

“Put me on the ship.”

He traveled with the merchants for years. They didn’t have much use for him at his age, but they kept him busy with smaller, insignificant tasks. He swept the decks, raised the sails, helped in the kitchens. He was in charge of making the beds and washing the clothes to the best of his abilities. 

As he grew older, the merchants began teaching him more. Instead of being a deck-sweeper, he was brought into the navigation cabin by the ship’s first mate. He was taught how to read winds and stars, how to use a compass and read and draw maps. 

When he was twelve, they began taking him off the ship when they were docked. He was allowed to run around the towns they visited for trade, as long as he knew when to be back on the ship. He enjoyed traveling at sea.

Three more years passed and he was sitting in on the trade meetings. Occasionally, when the captain was sick or they had multiple trades, Lee Know would get to handle a trade by himself. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but he found he could be rather charismatic when he needed to be and he’d grown to be rather handsome, or so he’s heard. 

He was newly nineteen on the night it all happened. 

Another ship was passing by the merchants and Lee Know was on watch for the night. He didn’t think much of the other travelers, it was common waters. But he noticed soon after, as the ship kept getting closer and closer and the flag was finally in view.

“Pirates!” He yelled to the other merchant on duty and they took off to alert the captain. There wasn’t enough time.

The pirates easily fought through the less-skilled merchant fighters and Lee Know found himself kneeling on the docks he often swept, his hands tied behind his head and worn-out leather boots dragging dirt across his floors.

He kept his head down, hands clenched into fists behind him. A pair of those worn-out boots stopped in front of him. He saw the knees bend and a face become eye-level with his.

It was hard to make our details or features on the boy’s face, but even in dull light, round cheeks shone through. Messy dark hair spilled over a black bandana.

“You look a little young to be here.” The boy said and his voice told Lee Know they weren’t far in age.

“You look a little old to still be going through your criminal phase.” Captain always told Lee Know his tongue would get him in too much trouble one day. He was surprised to have kept it the first time, maybe he wouldn’t get so lucky now.

The boy laughed in his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He shook a finger in Lee Know’s face with a condescending smile. There was a message there, Lee Know didn’t interpret it.

“We’ve got all we could find.” Another pirate came up behind them, “What do we do now, J?”

The boy in front of him stood up and turned to his shipmate. 

“Let’s leave. We have what we came for.” The pirates began to jump over to their own ship at his command and Lee Know let out a breath of relief to see the other merchants still in good condition. Their riches were lost, though.

“Wait.” The boy said, one boot propped up on the railing, he turned toward Lee Know, “He’s coming with us.” 

“But—“

“Him and the treasures. Let’s go.” The boy’s voice was cold as the waters below. 

Lee Know felt himself being pulled to his feet and hauled over the railings onto the new ship. His captain came him a look of pity, and Lee Know silently thanked him for all he had done for him. This isn’t how he thought it would end, but he made it further than he originally assumed.

“Welcome,” The boy said, the tip of his knife running along the ropes securing Lee Know’s wrists, “to your new home.” 

He’d fought. Of course, he’d fought. But the truth was, he was no match for the trained pirates. 

He was back to square one on this ship. 

They kept him in his cabin most days, making sure he didn’t jump ship to his death or get a hold of any weapons. They fed him, gave him his own bed and sleeping quarters. It was more luxurious than what the merchants offered, but then again, it was probably stolen.

The boy was named Jisung and he was the captain of the ship. He checked on Lee Know regularly, bringing him his meals and other delicacies. Never once did it seem malicious, but Lee Know was cautious. 

Storms came often in these parts of the waters. It was dangerous and the constant rocking kept Lee Know awake most nights. 

It was particularly bad on this night, when it was early in the morning and the door to his sleeping quarters sprung open.

Jisung was soaking wet, his hair falling around and sticking to his face. He caught his breath against the closed door and reached into his jacket pocket. Wrapped in towels, was a book.

“I picked it up on one of the ships we raided this morning. It has a lot of navigation stuff in it. My first mate tells me you seem intrigued with his navigation plans.” 

It was true that Lee Know did like to sneak peaks at the navigation, on the occasion that the first mate brought him something on days Jisung was busier. 

“Thank you.” Lee Know whispered and carefully took the book. It was made of fine leather, with a emblem from the kingdom. Jisung didn’t leave, instead, he took a seat in the chair beside Lee Know’s bed.

They were quiet for several minutes, before a loud crack of thunder had the boat rocking violently. Lee Know sighed and clutched the book tighter. He looked to Jisung, who was watching him with a wary expression.

“Why did you take me from the ship?” It was the question he’d wanted to ask for weeks now. Jisung blinked and turned away.

“You think you come from a merchant ship, no?” At Lee Know’s nod, Jisung sighed, “Then perhaps it is better if you continue thinking so.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Forget it. It isn’t important.”

“Do not keep secrets from me as if I am a child.” 

There went his tongue again. But Lee Know wasn’t afraid, he never had been. Jisung just watched him in silence, eyebrows pinched. 

“Fine.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest, “You weren’t just merchants. At least, not behind the scenes. The men on the ship with you are all known war criminals. They come to foreign cities under the guise of trade while they map out the cities and call in their military ships waiting nearby to destroy it once they have what they want.” 

Jisung made a face of disgust. “You were young. It makes sense why they wouldn’t tell you.”

“That’s not true.” Lee Know frowned, “I’ve done trades by myself before and we left immediately after.”

Jisung narrows his eyes.

“You mean in Noon?”

“How did you—“

“While you were keeping up their guise of a peaceful trade, they were waterboarding the president for secrets! They torched that city to the ground once you set sail!” 

Lee Know had thought it rather odd to not stay overnight in any of the towns, but it still hadn’t seemed too outlandish. They were merchants, not killers.

“But why—“

“King’s orders.” Jisung snarled, “Sorry to disappoint, but he isn’t the wonderful leader you think him to be.”

“I never thought of him as wonderful.” Lee Know cut in, his own jaw clenching at the thought of the greedy king. It all made sense now. 

“We aren’t so different, you and I.” Jisung said and he leaned forward in the chair, “I’ll tell you something honest about me. I despise the king. And I will stop at nothing to make him pay.” 

Lee Know met his gaze. Looking at him now, he realized Jisung couldn’t have been older than eighteen. He was just a kid, and he reminded Lee Know of who he would’ve become had he not been caught in the alley that day. 

“Care to share something honest about yourself?” Jisung asked.

“I am only honest when it rains.”

Jisung left his cabin that night and Lee Know spent the rest of his night pondering the last eleven years.

The captain returned the next night at the same time. It was raining.

He didn’t say anything as he took his seat in front of Lee Know again. They each sat calmly in the quiet as they waited for the sounds of waves slapping the cheap wood. 

“It’s raining.” Jisung said. Lee Know knew what he wanted him to say. 

“It is.” He nodded. Jisung grinned a little.

“So...”

“So, I will be honest.” He shifted in his bed to face the other, pulling his legs to his chest and back to the wall.

“I was homeless when I was eight. A guard caught me stealing bread from a baker’s trash one day and brought me to the castle. I was given an ultimatum. I either died or joined the merchants. You can assume what I chose.”

Jisung said nothing for a while, just nodded and processed. 

“What is your name?” He asked finally.

“Lee Know.”

“What is your real name?”

He stared back at him. “Lee Minho.”

Jisung smiled, stretching out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lee Minho. I am Han Jisung.”

Minho took his hand and shook. It took a few seconds for the name to register before Minho was tearing back with a gasp. 

“Han? As in...”

Jisung looked at the floor. “Would you believe me if I said it was a coincidence?”

“Is it?”

Jisung was quiet, then he said, “No...”

Everyone knew the story of the lost prince. The one lost at sea only six years after Minho had been born. It was why the King didn’t sail anymore, why he declared he would never board a ship again. His son, his only heir, and his wife, both lost to the pitch black and pale blue of the ocean waves.

There was a stained glass window dedicated to them in the palace. How Minho had never made the connection, he didn’t know. Jisung’s resemblance was striking to both the King and the painting.

“How come you don’t go back?” Minho asked. Jisung sighed and rang his hands together. His eyes focused on Minho’s face. 

“I knew I wouldn’t find you in the palace. Neptune was never fit for a palace. I was supposed to find you in the ocean this time.”

Minho shrank away, his back already against the wall. Jisung didn’t make any sense, yet something eased Minho’s nerves with that answer. Like everything was clear, clearer than he’d ever seen.

“I don’t understand.” He whispered.

Jisung reaches into his jacket pocket.

“I think it’s time you see this. Maybe it will help.” 

On the bed before him, Jisung lays a single white envelope. The handwriting is familiar, too familiar.

_ “To Jisung, From Minho.” _


	9. Pluto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Pluto by Sleeping At Last.

Nothing makes sense.

But what is “sense” in the first place? Understanding? Solution? Recognition? Why is there a need for it? Is it needed, or just preferred?

So, in the theory that sense itself doesn’t make sense, the conclusion must be that sense is a black hole. It turns in on itself, contradicts itself, becomes nothing. So, nothing makes sense and therefore it does make sense to sense itself.

The things that make the least amount of sense are considered phenomenal, beautiful, mysterious. It’s considered good. Why look for sense when lack there of is so much alluring? It simply doesn’t... make sense. 

But let’s say that it does.

Many cultures share the theory of life. 

Life doesn’t make sense, not in a way that is universally accepted. Life is different for most everything that is given one, experiences and situations shape how life occurs for each living being. But sometimes, theories and legends and religions allow for a more clear perspective: a reason behind the senseless chaos. 

Many cultures believe in reincarnation. 

Hawaiians speak of a cycle, between animals and humans and other beings. Ancient Greek culture taught the idea that a persistent soul survives bodily death and is later reincarnated in a human or other mammalian body. Plato believed in an immortal soul. 

It is not to say who is right and who is wrong, but to say they were all right. Belief is subjective. 

Lee Minho first heard the word “reincarnation” during his high school history course in the eleventh year. He didn’t think too deeply about it, the subject itself not being too deeply discussed. 

The second time he heard it, he was in college. His history professor was eccentric, with unique yet gorgeous facial features and an old way of speaking. He said things that didn’t made sense, but only because they made too much. He refused to give his students a name to call him by and insisted they refer to him only as “Professor Z.”

Minho liked his class for quite a few reasons, but the infamous Professor Z was among them. He spoke of reincarnation like he had invented it, like it was a beautifully horrifying thing to experience but paid off in the end for those who could understand it. Minho felt like Professor Z was always talking to him whenever the subject was covered in class.

It was a late Thursday evening when Minho was walking back to his college-town apartment. He lived just a few blocks down from his university and enjoyed the walk much more than the three dollar bus ride. Professor Z never assigned much homework but he gave them an assignment tonight. He wanted them to learn about reincarnation and pick their favorite theory of it. 

Minho was sorting through his ideas at the crosswalk, which theories he knew and which of those he enjoyed hearing about most, when a loud laugh disrupted the noise of cars on the street. Across the street, at the crosswalk opposite to him, a boy was leaned against the post. His hair was colored brown with blond highlights, his smile making the LED lights next to him look dull. Something in Minho’s chest pulled him towards the boy, his feet barely able to stop themselves from walking into traffic.

The boy across the street looked up as the pull strengthened and his bright smile turned smaller and more genuine. His eyes were so shiny and full of life, Minho was sure he could commit them to his memory with only a few glances. The boy smiled wide again, his conversation with the other boy beside him forgotten as he raised a hand and waved. Minho briefly wondered if they knew each other, but he dismissed the thought. He would’ve remembered him.

The light turned green and people around them started to move. Something about this was familiar to him. An image flirted across the forefront of his brain, an image of posh suits and ballroom dancing and the boy. It disappeared just as quickly. Minho didn’t even notice his feet carrying him across the crosswalk and his eyes remained locked with the other boy.

They passed each other, each slowing down to turn back and maintain their eye contact. Minho tried to stop, but the crowd around him kept him moving. The boy giggled and walked backwards to the sidewalk to watch Minho stumble his way across the street. He made it just in time for the light to change. 

Cars flew by in front of them, separating them and filling the street in between. They stared, staying at their positions. The boy’s friend must have gotten tired and he nudged the boy to hurry along. He waved his friend off and gave Minho one last smile before disappearing behind the corner. 

Minho felt dazed as he walked home and floated up to his apartment door. The boy was so surreal, and Minho had never felt so light on his feet before. He spent an hour studying reincarnation theories and even though he couldn’t tell what, he felt something click into place for him.

Professor Z greeted him the next afternoon, with a clipboard and a pen and a bright, all-knowing smile. Minho grinned back and tightened his grip on his backpack strap. The boy had been on his mind all day, and he was beginning to worry himself over how often he thought of him in the span of a few hours. 

“What theory do you believe in, Minho?”

Minho thought back to his research, the notes he’d taken on each theory. There was an assortment of scientific, religious and theoretical theories, all with compelling points. Once again, his mind found the memory of the crosswalk and the boy.

“Soulmates.” He said, before he’d even noticed the word on his tongue. Professor Z didn’t look surprised, he just smirked and scribbled the answer down on his paper. Minho blinked away his confusion.

“Why soulmates, Minho?” Professor Z asked and for some reason, Minho felt like he must know the answer already.

“I believe in destiny.” He replies and Professor Z looked up from his clipboard. His grin was kind and friendlier and relieved. He reached out and patted Minho’s shoulder.

“So do I, Minho.”

Reincarnation was discussed further in detail today, the results of the students homework entered into a poll and shown on screen for them all to see. Each theory was discussed more in depth, but Minho could only focus on the number beside “Soulmates Theory.”

Two votes.

For some reason, the number intrigued him and once class had ended and people began to go to their daily routine, Minho stopped himself. 

“Professor,” He stooped by his desk, bottom lip in between his teeth, “may I ask who else voted for my theory?”

“It was a student in my earlier class this morning,” Professor Z replied without even looking at his clipboard or computer, “a student named Han Jisung gave me the same answer.”

The name caused a rush in Minho’s veins. He didn’t know why, he didn’t even know a Jisung. As far as he knew, he had never even met a Jisung. 

His strange reaction aside, Minho thanked the professor and exited. He was walking slower today, hoping to see the boy at the crosswalk again. He didn’t.

It had been over a day and Minho couldn’t stop thinking about him. He researched more about the theory of soulmates and reincarnation, his interested now piqued at all the information he had gathered. 

He didn’t leave his apartment until late Saturday evening. He hadn’t eaten much and was on his way to the convenience store when he stopped at the crosswalk. The street lamp above gave off little to no light, but it was just enough to identity the figure underneath. The streets were vacant, yet neither moved until the light turned green. This time, they stopped in the middle.

“Hi,” Minho breathed, suddenly unsure and nervous of what to say. The boy giggled and Minho thought it was the most incredible sound he’d ever heard. 

“Hey,” He said, his smile contagious. He didn’t seem weirded out by Minho so far. He figured that was a good thing.

“I’m sorry if this is weird but I noticed you at the crosswalk the other day.” He didn’t know how else to put it, so he did it as simply as he could. Again, the boy didn’t seem bothered.

“I noticed you too.” He offered his hand, “My name is Han Jisung.”

Again, the rush in his veins came crashing in at the name and he instantly remembered where he’d heard it. The other soulmate theorist. He squeezed Jisung’s hand and his whole body lit aflame. 

“Lee Minho.” He choked out and Jisung smiled even wider.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Do you believe in destiny?” Minho barely let the other finish his sentence before the words flew out of his mouth. Jisung didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

Minho grabbed his hand firmer and pulled him across the street. They spent his week’s pay from the bookstore at the convenience store and Minho didn’t allow himself to think twice before dragging Jisung up the stairs to his apartment.

They sat on the floor of his living room, talking about everything in the history of the world and more. Their connection was instant and it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else besides then. It didn’t make sense to Minho either, but he was learning not everything had to.

They grew close around several weeks of a repeated routine. Jisung would come over every Thursday and Saturday and they would sit on the carpeted floor of Minho’s college apartment and talk about anything they could make a topic.

Something about Jisung made Minho feel more alive, made him feel drawn to the round cheeks and big smile. He was doomed from the start.

“Jisung?” He says one night while staring at his ceiling fan turn round and round. Jisung gives a hum of encouragement.

“Remember how Professor Z wanted us to pick our favorite reincarnation theory?” He can feel his fingers twisting in the carpet beneath them. Jisung mumbles a yes. 

“I picked soulmates.” He mutters and Jisung turns to look at him.

“So did I.”

“I know.” He can’t stop himself from saying it. Jisung pulls the truth out of him like a magnet.

“How?”

Minho cannot lie. “I asked Professor Z who else voted soulmates.”

Jisung hums again and goes back to watching the ceiling. Minho isn’t finished though.

“I’ve been having weird dreams.” He finally says and Jisung sits up from his position on the floor. 

“Again?” Leaves his mouth before he can silence it, but Minho is so caught up in his own thoughts, he doesn’t hear it.

“I see us, but it’s not us. It’s our faces and names and us but it’s not the same. Sometimes we’re dancing in a ballroom of people too rich for us and sometimes we’re robbing ships in the middle of the ocean. It’s not just the dreams, I get them in the middle of the day too.” 

Minho shakes his head, raising up from the carpet. He doesn’t look at Jisung yet, afraid of his reaction.

“I think I need a dream therapist.” 

Jisung doesn’t say anything, so Minho turns to him. He doesn’t expect the tears running down Jisung’s face. He doesn’t expect the hand clasped over his mouth and the soft weeps behind it.

“Woah, Jisung, what’s—“

“I didn’t want to give it to you yet.” His voice comes out choked and raw, “I gave it to you too early last time and you took forever to trust me again. I can’t do it again, there’s nothing if I mess it up again.”

Jisung has his knees pulled up to his chest and his chest shaking with sobs. Minho doesn’t know how to comfort people but he is going to do his best. 

“What’s going on, Jisung?” Minho asks softly as he sits beside the boy, pulling his own knees under him. Jisung shakes his head and Minho feels the pull again.

“Whatever it is, I promise you can trust me.” He whispers and Jisung looks up at him with teary-eyes.

“I do trust you,” He croaks, “but you won’t trust me.”

“I will.” Minho says instantly, “I will.”

Jisung draws a shaky breath and reaches into his bag on the floor. A tattered envelope slips out into his hand. He hands it to Minho without a word.

The letter is opened already, dirty and old pen used to write it. Still, he can make out the words. The visuals it paints are exactly like those he’s seen and the words are exactly what he’s heard and it makes no sense, no sense at all.

“This is—“ He cuts himself off when he reads the last few lines. He grabs the tossed aside envelope and turns it over, reading the addressee. 

“When did I...”

An image comes back to him. An image of him sitting at a desk with a pen and the sound of children screaming downstairs. He writes frantically, glancing over his shoulder. He’s confused, dazed. He’s himself but not. Everything he’s read says this isn’t possible, except for one.

“Reincarnation?” It sounds stupid to say it aloud but when Jisung sits up straighter and looks at him longer, he doesn’t feel so stupid.

“What did you just say?” Jisung asks him, his eyes glancing between the paper and Minho’s eyes.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I think... I don’t think this is the first time we’ve met.” Minho hears they worry in his own voice as he says it. Jisung is going to think he’s insane.

“It isn’t.” He says instead. Minho glances up and Jisung is staring at the envelope. He gulps.

“God, this is my last chance and I... I’m so scared of messing this up.” 

Minho takes Jisung’s shaking hand in his own.

“How many times?” He asks and Jisung closes his eyes.

“I can’t say.”

Minho tries to think, tries to visualize all the memories he has, tries to piece them together. He comes up with nine that fit. He says the number out loud.

“Nine times. What comes in nines?”

Nine balls in pool, nine dragons, nine innings of a baseball game, nine lives of a cat—

Nine lives of a cat. 

Nine planets of the solar system.

“You knew,” He whispers and Jisung cringes away, “since when did you know?”

Jisung is quiet for a moment. “...Earth.”

Something dawns on him at that moment. 

“We’re in Pluto.” He says and Jisung nods solemnly.

How is this possible? Reincarnation makes some sense but how did the planets tie in? Like the Ancient Greeks said—

The Ancient Greeks.

The Greeks who believed in more than just reincarnation, but who believed in other things. 

“Gods.” 

Jisung eyes snap up. They’re wide, wider than Minho has ever seen them. Minho knows he’s right when he sees that look. This is all too strange. Nothing makes sense. 

“What?” Jisung whispers softly.

“The planets were named after gods...” Minho is on his feet, pacing back and forth, letter in hand, “but we have traveled all the planets and you have remembered them all because you are connected to all and you—“ 

He freezes, hand lingering in the air as he points at Jisung. The boy before him is frozen, caution in his eyes but something else. It’s hope.

“You know them all. You are connected to them all because you are...”

“I am?” Jisung prompts, his voice desperate.

“The Sun. Apollo’s son.”

Jisung nods, the tears in his eyes gather again. He can’t speak, can barely breathe. He’s waited so long.

“And I have not remembered everything because I am only part of some, but not all. My memory had to be regained slowly because not all the pieces were there.” 

“Yes,” Jisung is on his feet now too, his hands on Minho’s cheeks.

“Am I...?”

“Yes, yes you are.”

Minho blinks, his hands coming up to hold Jisung’s at his face.

“Say your name, Minho.” Jisung whispers.

“I am the son of Selene. I am the Moon.”


	10. Orbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to all the instrumental versions of the songs by Sleeping At Last that correlate with the planets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun little work in progress for me and I really enjoyed working with it! One day, I might turn a few of these into full fics with only vague hints at the bigger story conveyed here! Maybe! As for your official fics, which I know you guys are just dying for another after the last one, right? :), I will be posting all sneak-peaks, updates, and scheduling as well as complaints on my twitter @ hanjisungsslut. Come say hi, I’m very friendly. Thats all! Enjoy!

Mercury. 

Melancholy, mysterious, methodical.

Venus.

Vivid, valiant, vast.

Earth. 

Elegance, eccentric, enticing.

Mars.

Majestic, malleable, marvelous.

Jupiter.

Judicious, jocular, jovial.

Saturn.

Sincere, sophisticated, special.

Uranus.

Ubiquitous, unique, utmost.

Neptune.

Noble, notable, nebulous.

Pluto.

Placid, peaceful, perfect.

Balance. 

In order for every planet to turn on its axis, to move in and out of sync with each other, to thrive, there must be balance. When balance is thrown off, the planets may not rotate, may crash into each other, may damage. But when that balance is restored, everything will return to the way it should be.

In the middle of it all is the sun. The sun that reaches every planet, the sun that stays center and allows the planets to have something in common. The center, the sun, the balance.

It gets lonely out there, being the one thing everything else depends on, being the balance between imbalance. When everything leans on the sun, who does the sun have to lean on?

That’s why there is the moon. Not every planet has one, not every planet has the same number. The moon is simply there to relieve the sun of some of the pressure. The moon is there to offer comfort. Man walked on the moon, man will never walk on the sun.

And since the moon appeared, the sun no longer worries. When everything leans on the sun, the sun leans on the moon. And there is balance.

When the sun is all-knowing and bright, the moon is dark and full of wanderlust. 

“Professor!” 

Professor Z has his key in hand. He stands in front of the door to his lecture hall, like he was waiting. The town is quiet, the houses and apartments sound asleep. Only the streetlights notice the figures underneath.

“Minho,” There is a glint in the professor’s eye as he says it, like an assortment of gemstones. Maybe it’s sapphires, rubies or emeralds, Minho doesn’t know. “What brings you here?”

Minho slows to a stop, his feet carry him a few extra feet. He is exhausted, but desperate. 

“Can you tell me about reincarnation?” Minho, as well-composed and certain as he normally is, is a wreck in this moment. His feet ache from how far he’s run in such short time. His guard is crumbling. If he were a house, he would be made of glass and he would be cracking right about now.

“Are you not doing a paper on the subject? What could I tell you that the internet couldn’t?” The professor replies, his fingers work the key in and out of the gaps. 

“I don’t think the internet has the knowledge I am looking for, professor.” Minho stands up a little straighter, his steps cautious but determined as he eliminates the space between him and the older man.

“Oh?” Professor Z says and the smirk on his face is so obvious, it hurts. He knows. Minho recognizes his face. Once, this man was a guest at a luxurious dinner party. Once, he was a commander in a war, a mentor to a young scientist who didn’t understand the things he studied, a King to a Kingdom built on greed and glory. Once, he was a history professor hellbent on reincarnation. 

He is not any of those things when he looks Minho in the eyes at this moment. He is what he has always been, what Minho couldn’t see before. His vision is clear now and he sees this man for what he is.

“You never told us, professor,” Minho says, swallowing thickly, “what was your favorite theory?”

Professor Z grins. It’s not warm and inviting, but it isn’t cold and rejecting either. It just is and it doesn’t make sense. But there is balance.

“I thought soulmates was a fine answer.” Professor Z says and the key turns over in his palm. He never once looks down at it as he flips it over his hand, tosses it up and catches it.

“Professor Z.” Minho forces himself to smile, to focus on the eyes of the man instead of his hand, “I think that name is far too casual for someone of your power.”

Professor Z doesn’t say anything, he just grins again and waits for Minho to continue. He does.

“I think we should be on more formal terms, don’t you?” Minho holds out his hand, trying to stop the shaking as much as he can bare to, “It is very nice to meet you formally.

“Zeus.”

Zeus laughs this time, it’s loud and genuine. It radiates power, power that Minho feels shock his fingertips and the tips of his ears. Power that is no longer being concealed.

“It is nice to formally meet you too,” Zeus shakes his hand, “though I am not sure I know your name.”

“Allow me to introduce myself.” Minho looks up, the moonlight washing over him in the cool breeze. He once begged for an answer to the question “who am I.” Now, he needn’t ask. 

He is both old enough and young enough to know where his armor needs and where his skin begins. He is old enough and young enough to know who he is and who he is not. He knows of infinity and it’s possibilities. He knows what can be done with cheap wood and torn out pages.

He needn’t ask. 

“My name is Lee Minho, son of Selene.” 

Zeus shakes his hand more firmly now, and then let’s go.

“And where is your sun, little moon?”

“I am always near, Zeus.” Jisung’s voice carries around the corner. Zeus doesn’t seem surprised by his presence.

“Always in the center of things, right?” Zeus laughs, “If this is all, I will be going.”

He begins to walk away, pocketing the key and sending a wink over his shoulder.

“It would seem I have work to do.” 

Both boys watch him disappear, watch him walk down the street until he fades away beneath the moonlight and the rising sun.

“What happens now?” Minho asks aloud and he feels Jisung grab his hand. 

“Now,” He says and reaches into his pocket, holding an identical key, “we let Pluto run its course. Then when the new orbit starts, we won’t be Minho and Jisung anymore.” 

Minho reaches into his own pocket, his finger sliding over cold metal. He almost laughs as he presents a key as well.

“When the next orbit begins, we will be the sun and the moon.”

Minho compares their keys. Jisung’s is bigger and wider. There is a gold gem in the middle of it. Minho’s has a silver one. 

“And in the next orbit, where will you stay?” He asks. Jisung meets his gaze. He reaches over, keys held in his palm and clasps their hands together.

“In your rotation, I stay.”


End file.
